When you were a child, did you ever sit in the living room with your family on a dark night listening, petrified, while your dad or grandfather told a true story about a really spooky happening, something that was never explained? You wanted a rational, satisfying explanation but there was none. It was just a mystery, left dangling to lodge in your mind for the rest of your life, giving you a case of the shivers when the moon is full and the wind moans around the corner of the house, rattling buckets or porch swings?
My dad told two such tales to be passed down to the next generation. One went like this: a man had heard stories about outlaws’ gold buried somewhere in the Cookson hills. He must have had a pretty good idea of where to look because one night (night is the best time to hunt for treasure) he took his pickax and shovel to the suspicious spot and started digging. A noise caused him to pause and look around. It sounded like a wagon pulled by horses was bumping over the rocky ground toward him. But, when he stopped digging, the wagon stopped too. Deciding it was just his imagination, he began digging again and, once more, here came the unseen wagon. Pausing and looking around, the man saw nothing. Each time he began digging, the wagon wheels bumping over the ground, the sound of horses’ hooves drew closer and closer. At last, the treasure hunter could stand it no longer. Grabbing his tools, he fled the scene. Well, I think that was the smart thing to do. Don’t you?
Then there was the story of someone who evidently found the right spot to search or else why would spooky events have bothered? But, as he dug for the money, spider webs covered his face and arms. He tried wiping them away, but he couldn’t. He tried ignoring them but that didn’t work either. Soon, the sticky threads were so thick that he couldn’t see. They covered his eyes, his nose, and his mouth. Deciding somebody else could deal with ghostly webs, the treasure hunter ended his search, a lot quicker than he had begun.
I like to weave some of these legends and scary tales into the cozy mysteries I write. For example, in Best Left Buried, Darcy encounters the webs. She wasn’t exactly hunting for treasure at the time; possibly, the webs were in her pathway to keep her from danger. I don’t know. What do you think?
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